


We’ve Got Two Tin Cans (But the String is Too Short)

by kappamaki33



Category: Glee
Genre: Best Friends, First Kiss, First Love, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kappamaki33/pseuds/kappamaki33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercedes is happy that Kurt has a boyfriend.  Really.  At least, she wants to be happy for him, and hopes maybe she will be if she just repeats it to herself enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’ve Got Two Tin Cans (But the String is Too Short)

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://narie.livejournal.com/profile)[**narie**](http://narie.livejournal.com/)’s prompt, “Kurt tells Mercedes about Blaine, post Original Songs.” This prompt came from my tiny fluff meme, and yet it turned out not so tiny or fluffy.

Regionals fell on a Thursday. Mercedes didn’t call Kurt until Saturday. There was no way they were going to get around talking about the competition, especially since it was the only thing they’d done together (well, sort of together—in the same room, at least) in the last ten days. Sure, they’d winked and hugged and told each other how amazing the other had been at the competition itself, after the paramedics had hauled the Lieutenant Governor’s wife away, but Mercedes had waited to have a _real_ conversation so it didn’t look like she was rubbing New Directions’ win in Kurt’s face. Three days seemed like a proper mourning period.

She’d half-way expected Kurt to still be a little in mourning when she called, though. Kurt was a diva above all else (something which she understood and respected). It was only so often you got a serious enough opportunity to mope dramatically that your parents wouldn’t call you out on it, then tell you to take out the trash and come back in with a better attitude. Plus, she had to admit, she kind of liked talking Kurt through his personal drama, most of the time. Though she’d never admit it to Kurt, his drama was usually much more interesting than hers (seriously, the thing with Finn last year? was the kind of thing she thought only happened on her grandma’s soaps), and the way he phrased it all was just so... _Kurt_.

That was why she was surprised and honestly a little disappointed when Kurt answered her call so brightly. “Mercedes! I was just going to call you! The Goodwill in Mason where I scored that fabulous Vivienne Westwood cardigan is having a two-for-one day next Saturday. We. are. going.” He sighed. “Don’t you just love it when rich people give back to the community?”

“Wow, glad to hear you’re taking the loss so well,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes, well—” she could tell he was trying to muffle the phone, but she could still hear his musical giggle, followed by a very coy and unconvincing _stop that_ to someone in the room, “well, I just—we— _ohh_ —”

Mercedes’s eyebrows shot up. _That_ was not a sound she had ever heard Kurt Hummel make before, not even over McQueen scarves. That sounded almost like a...a... _sex sound_. Or at least a sex _y_ sound.

She heard Kurt gulp before he continued a little breathlessly, “Mercedes, I hate to do this, but can I call you back in a half hour?” Another loud exhale and giggle. “Or maybe more like forty-five minutes?”

“Uh, okay.”

“Thanks, Mercedes! You’re the best,” Kurt said, barely managing to get it all out before hanging up.

Mercedes sat on her bed and stared at her phone for a full minute. Blaine. It had to be Blaine, if for no other reason than there were only so many gay boys in western Ohio. That and, yeah, it did take Kurt a while to get over crushes, so there was no way he’d be as cozy as it sounded like he was with Not-So-Mystery Guy if it were somebody completely new.

Thinking back on what she’d seen of them at Regionals, it did make sense. At the time, she hadn’t thought anything of Blaine singing that break-up song at Kurt all googly-eyed. He’d looked at Rachel pretty damn googly when they sang “Don’t You Want Me,” after all. She remembered he’d been a little handsy with Kurt in the post-performance Warbler dog pile, too. But Blaine was a handsy kind of guy, as she had learned well in the hour Kurt spent demonstrating the Blaine Anderson Repertoire of Ambiguous Friends-Zone-Crossing Touches on Rachel for the girls’ analysis at their slumber party. (“If it were _just_ hands-on-shoulders, I’d agree, but there was _squeezing_ , Mercedes. Doesn’t squeezing at least count as a mixed signal?”)

So after months of mooning, Kurt was finally getting some with a cute and seemingly nice guy. Well, good for him. _Great_ for him.

Yep. Fabulous.

Mercedes felt her enthusiasm flagging when fifty minutes went by, then fifty-five, then an hour. One hour and seven minutes later, her phone lit up and vibrated its way across her nightstand to “Bad Romance.” She supposed she’d have to change Kurt's ringtone now. “Telephone” could be funny. ( _“Alejandro,”_ some quiet but annoyed little part of her said, but she ignored it.)

“Okay, Kurt, what—”

“ _OhmygodohmygodMercedesIhaveaboyfriend!_ ” Kurt said at a pitch that forced Mercedes to pull her ear back from the phone. “And it’s _Blaine!_ ”

Mercedes shrieked. Yeah, she had to pretend the surprise, but she _was_ really, really happy for him. Not to mention curious. She sat cross-legged on her bed and got comfortable against the throw pillows. “So that’s who I heard crawling all over you when I called earlier?” she teased.

“He was _not_ ‘crawling all over me,’” Kurt said. Mercedes could almost hear him blush. “He’s a gentleman. We’re _both_ gentlemen. But yes, it was him. I’m sorry I made you wait, but I wanted to be able to swoon and gush properly about him, which I couldn’t do in his presence. Don’t want to puff up his ego too much this early.”

“How gentlemanly is ‘gentlemanly’?” Mercedes asked. She knew Tina would have no shame in her questioning once she got to interrogate Kurt, and Mercedes was _not_ letting Tina beat her to the really juicy gossip. “I hope you’re having a little fun after waiting all this time.”

“Our current agreement is no hands below the waist, or under the shirt, and no lips below the collar.” He added in a low voice, “But I wore my one and only non-pajama scoop-neck tee under an unbuttoned cardigan today.” It sounded like he was shivering, in a good way. “Oh _god_ , Mercedes. Lips, collarbone—you have _no idea_. I may have to swear off scarves.”

That elicited a genuine gasp. “You? _Never!_ ”

“I really may. Seriously, you need to help me force those eighties flashdance sweatshirts back into fashion.”

Mercedes couldn’t help cracking up. “Or you could just change your agreement to include some unbuttoning.”

She contemplated for a moment if she should be a bit evil. She knew Kurt was a little skittish about sex. (Okay, so covering his ears and singing “The Rain in Spain” at the top of his lungs whenever she or Rachel talked about anything more intense than kissing probably qualified as more than a _little_ skittish, but it was hard to tell how much of that was because those conversations involved sex and how much was because they involved female anatomy.) She decided being made to wait through an extra twenty-two minutes of making out warranted a little wickedness.

“Besides, aren’t you going to need your scarf collection to cover up the collection of hickeys you’re gonna collect?”

“ _Mercedes!_ ” Kurt said, scandalized. He laughed, though.

Fashion and its relationship to dating were all well and good, but far from the most interesting thing they could be talking about. “You know I want details on how it happened. Spill!”

Kurt sighed to the point of nearly swooning. “Oh Mercedes. It was _so_ romantic. Like something out of a Nicholas Sparks movie. Only without either of us dying. And without the soul-crushing sadness. Actually, no, it was nothing like a Nicholas Sparks movie. Nora Ephron, all the way.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “That's still not details, Kurt.”

“Right. It all started with the death of Pavarotti.”

“That opera dude my grandma likes?”

“What? No, my canary. I was also rather fed up with the Warblers’ mass sycophantism when it came to Blaine and his never-ending stream of leads, and worse yet, Blaine’s blindness to it all. Anyway, the desire to break out of the Warbler mold was already there, but Pavarotti’s death was the catalyst that made me perform ‘Blackbird’ in my Charles Dickens mourning outfit for them.”

“You did _what_?” Sure, that was the kind of thing they did in New Directions on a weekly basis, but from what Kurt had said about the Warblers, she doubted anybody had walked in wearing Charles Dickens mourning attire since, like, _Charles Dickens_.

“When Blaine found me decorating Pavarotti’s casket and told me we were singing ‘Candles,’ he said ‘Blackbird’ was _the moment_ for him. He said, and I quote, ‘Kurt, there is a moment when you say to yourself, “Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking for you forever.”’ And he was looking at me, I can’t even describe how, and—just to be vindicated that I wasn’t making it up and we’d had this deep connection all along that he just hadn’t realized what it was—”

“Uh, Kurt, I’m not sure that’s exactly what that means...”

“Mercedes? This is not the time to be bringing logic into a conversation,” Kurt said, deadly serious. His voice brightened immediately. “Back to the kissing—”

That genuinely caught her interest again. “Oh my God, there was kissing involved in his confession, too? Where was all this?”

Not bothering to ask for the clarification Mercedes realized that question really needed, Kurt said, “In the empty commissary, on the lips. _There was tongue_.”

That merited another shriek.

Kurt shrieked, too. “I know! Not slobbery face-eating tongue, like I’ve had the misfortune of walking in on Finn performing on Quinn. More like...polite tongue.”

“Church tongue,” Mercedes said.

“Exactly. I had always secretly thought the whole frenching thing might be a little gross, but oh, it’s so...”

“Hot?”

“Yeah,” he said dreamily. “When we finally broke apart, Blaine was so adorably flushed and flustered. He said we should practice, and then I—and I don’t know how I managed to be smooth _at all_ after that, but I did—then I said,” Kurt dropped his voice down to what Mercedes figured was supposed to be sultry, “‘I thought we were.’” He paused. “‘I thought we were’! Unbelievably smooth, all things considered, right?”

 _Oh, sweetie,_ Mercedes thought as she bit back a laugh. “Then what?”

“We kissed again. And again, and _again_ , until Wes came in. We got a long lecture on Warbler traditions and how they’d only gone along with Blaine’s bald-faced ploy to get in my pants because ‘Blackbird’ had amply proven my talent and because Thad would vote for an Ashlee Simpson medley if Blaine wanted it, anyway. Then he said if we ever wanted to even stand next to each other in a performance again, our interpretation of ‘practice’ needed to evolve so it included a lot more singing and a lot less tonsil hockey. Who even uses the phrase ‘tonsil hockey’ anymore, really?”

That was as good of a segue into talking about the competition itself as any. Kurt was so besotted that Mercedes was sure the conversation wasn’t going to be nearly as difficult as she’d imagined.

“I’m really glad for you, Kurt. It must’ve been hard for you to keep all this to yourself for so long. Now I wish I’d called you sooner, but I wanted to give you time in case you were upset about how Regionals turned out.”

“I am upset—as nice as getting a duet was, I should’ve been up there with you guys—but I’ve decided to just ride the wave of Blaine-related bliss as long as I can. Nationals is a long ways off. I have plenty of time to get jealous.” Mercedes heard Kurt flop back against something, probably his bed. “But yes, it was driving me _crazy_ all last week and this week, not being able to tell you about Blaine.”

Mercedes’s brow furrowed. “Wait a minute. This week _and_ last week?”

“Yes. He kissed me the afternoon after the Council meeting when we got the duet. As outlandish as it may sound, the Warblers actually _practice_ their numbers before competitions.”

Something caught in Mercedes’s throat. She had to cough before she could talk again. “So you kept this big, great news from—all to yourself for almost two weeks?”

“More like ten days.” Then his tone changed, as if a light bulb had gone off in his head. “Oh, honey, I wanted to tell you, so, so much, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you about everything with Blaine without telling you about the duet, and I couldn’t tell you about the duet because that would be like leaking part of our set list to the—not the enemy, but you know what I mean.”

“I get it. Don’t worry about it,” Mercedes said, but it still hurt—not even what Kurt had done or not done, just the fact that this separation made things so weird. Frankly, it hurt that this separation existed in the first place, even though she knew it wasn’t their fault.

“Even with the delay, I think we got a pretty good squeal of delight out of the news anyway, didn’t we? I can talk about the kiss again, if you’d like,” Kurt said, trying so hard to be charming and friendly. Mercedes laughed. Kurt continued, “We’ll make sure we get it right when it’s your turn for a first kiss story.”

He should’ve just stopped while he was ahead. She didn’t even bother mentioning Puck. They’d had that spat enough times before. (“Puck doesn’t count. My god, why would you even _want_ him to count?”) The line was silent for a long time.

“I know what we should do. After we raid the Goodwill on Saturday, we could do a double-date. I think you’d really like Warbler David.”

Mercedes gritted her teeth. “Let me guess which of the two black guys David is.”

“I swear, David’s ethnicity is completely incidental in this case. I’m recommending David on the basis of relative sanity. If I set you up with Thad, he’d spend the whole date fixated on Blaine—which, just _no_ , and Wes...is so very Wes,” Kurt said.

Mercedes was genuinely surprised when she brushed absently at her cheek and discovered it was wet.

“Come on, just give him a try. It would be so much fun if you and I could do couple-y things together.”

Mercedes couldn’t help but remember the evening she first met Blaine with Kurt at Breadstix. If she’d felt like a third wheel then (and had she ever—it’s hard to break into a conversation when the two other people keep finishing each other’s sentences), now...now, Blaine had a legitimate reason to be stuck to Kurt like Velcro.

And—Mercedes hated herself for thinking it, she really did. When she and Kurt had consoled each other that they were amazing and that it was the eligible males of Ohio that were plebian (his word) and brain-dead (hers) if they didn’t recognize it, Mercedes had always known in the back of her mind that one of them was going to leave their Single and Fabulous club first. Kurt was a great person and her best friend, but was it really so wrong of her to always secretly expect to be the one who got a boyfriend first? Just based on raw numbers, nearly half the population of McKinley should’ve been at least possible for her. Kurt hit pay-dirt on his second crush (and first gay one) ever. Compare that to her, someone who’d had about two hundred straight guys pass her in the halls and lunchroom every day. The most interested reaction she’d gotten since she took off the Cheerios uniform was one friendly smile that went nowhere and a whole lot of stares right through her.

Even though Kurt had been off the table as a potential boyfriend for a long time now, at least he’d always _seen_ her. Now, Mercedes wasn’t so sure about that, and it wasn’t just because he went to a different school.

“’Cedes? You still there?”

She blinked rapidly. “Yeah, I’m here. Uh, I’m sorry, hon, but I just realized I can’t go to the Goodwill on Saturday. I’ve got church choir practice.” It would be over by ten, leaving Kurt and her plenty of time to drive down to Mason if they wanted, but Mercedes didn’t feel like adding that detail.

Kurt squeaked indignantly. “This is _important_. Surely they can do without you for one practice.”

“Not this time. I’ve got a big duet this Sunday, and Saturday’s the only time my partner and I can go through it together,” Mercedes said.

“Ooh, is it a duet with a guy? Is he cute?”

She rolled her eyes at Kurt’s one-track mind. No doubt this was just a preview of coming attractions. “Yes, with a guy, and yes, he is cute.” _Cute in that way that all seventy-two year-old grandpas are cute,_ she added mentally, but she didn’t feel like telling Kurt that part, either.

“You go, girl!”

“Why don’t you take Blaine shopping with you?” Mercedes said as evenly and happily as she could.

Kurt hummed. “I’m not saying that Blaine doesn’t dress well out of uniform, but he has a somewhat narrow style range. To paraphrase the Mother Monster, he is his hair—very Brylcreem Chic.” Kurt laughed nervously. “It works for him, but I fear shopping with him might lead to me looking like a character from _Happy Days_.”

Mercedes pushed herself to sit up straight. This was supposed to be a happy time, damn it. Kurt had a boyfriend, and she was going to Nationals in New York. She said, “I’ll make it up to you. Shopping on Fifth Avenue will be way more fun than the Mason Goodwill, anyway.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line that she hadn’t expected.

“Your family is coming to Nationals to watch Finn compete, right?” Mercedes said.

“I don’t know,” Kurt replied, hesitating. “What with my Dalton tuition and all the added expenses that came with setting up the new house, money is a little tight. And I’m...”

She waited for Kurt to finish the sentence, but the words never came.

“If all else fails, I’ll bring you back something great,” she said.

Mercedes waited for Kurt to come back with a joke about nixing any gift options that involved zebra print or something. All she got was a deep, shuddering sigh.

“I promise I will be happy for you someday soon,” he finally said.

Objectively, it may have been a lousy, selfish thing to say, but Mercedes felt relieved. “Same here.”

“You and Rachel are still meeting me and Blaine for coffee Wednesday after school, right?” There was a little bit of fear in Kurt’s voice, if Mercedes wasn’t mistaken.

“’Course we are,” she said. “But you better buy your boy his own plate of biscotti this time. If he tries to creep on mine again, I’m not making any guarantees about him leaving with all his fingers intact. Now that you have a personal interest in his hands—”

“God, Mercedes,” Kurt cut in. “Making me blush is going to be your new favorite pastime, isn’t it?”

Mercedes grinned. “Honey, this coffee meet-up is going to be the Make Kurt Hummel Blush Olympics, and I am coming home with the gold. Maybe we should invite Santana along to up the competition.”

Kurt huffed, but Mercedes knew he was smiling. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“Love you, too. I suppose I should let you go, since you’ve been out of contact with Blaine for _twenty whole minutes_ by now, which must seem like _forever_ —”

“I’m hanging up now,” Kurt said with a laugh.

Mercedes hung up as well, then slid down against her pillows again. Being miserable when life was kicking you in the teeth was one thing. She couldn’t say that being sad when good things finally started happening was worse, because nothing could totally take the shine off that Regionals trophy and the promise of New York City. But it did tarnish it.

She and Kurt weren’t giving up, though. Things would get better. That was the mantra that had gotten them through the tough times. It seemed silly to be afraid it wouldn’t be enough to get them through this, too, even though she was, just a little.

Mercedes took a deep breath, then dialed Tina. “Girl, do I have news for you...”


End file.
